EXTRACT: One would like to peep covertly into Amy's diary (octavo, with the word 'Amy' in gold letters wandering across the soft brown leather covers, as if it was a long word and, in Amy's opinion, rather a dear). To take such a liberty, and allow the reader to look over our shoulders, as they often invite you to do in novels (which, however, are much more coquettish things than plays) would be very helpful to us; we should learn at once what sort of girl Amy is, and why to-day finds her washing her hair. We should also get proof or otherwise, that we are interpreting her aright; for it is our desire not to record our feelings about Amy, but merely Amy's feelings about herself; not to tell what we think happened, but what Amy thought happened. The book, to be sure, is padlocked, but we happen to know where it is kept. (In the lower drawer of that hand-painted escritoire.) Sometimes in the night Amy, waking up, wonders whether she did lock her diary, and steals downstairs in white to make sure. On these occasions she undoubtedly lingers among the pages, re-reading the peculiarly delightful bit she wrote yesterday; so we could peep over her shoulder, while the reader peeps over ours. Then why don't we do it? Is it because this would be a form of eavesdropping, and that we cannot be sure our hands are clean enough to turn the pages of a young girl's thoughts? It cannot be that, because the novelists do it. It is because in a play we must tell nothing that is not revealed by the spoken words; you must find out all you want to know from them; there is no weather even in plays nowadays except in melodrama; the novelist can have sixteen chapters about the hero's grandparents, but we cannot even say he had any unless he says it himself. There can be no rummaging in the past for us to show what sort of people our characters are; we are allowed only to present them as they toe the mark; then the handkerchief falls, and off they go. James Matthew Barrie, better known under the signature of J. M. Barrie (Kirriemuir, May 9, 1860 - London, 19 June 1937), 1st Baronet, is a writer and Scottish playwright, famous for creating the character of Peter Pan. During his years of study in Glasgow, James Barrie makes friends (Stuart Gordon, Welwood Anderson), he discovers Shakespeare and the theater and up a troupe of amateurs with his comrades. He entered the University of Edinburgh in 1878, which showed four years later with a Master of Arts (MA). He worked as a reporter for the Journal of Nottingham there he contracted the habit of smoking the pipe that exalt in My Lady Nicotine in 1890. He moved to London in his account in 1885 and collaborates with various newspapers. He noted in 1889 by the publication of a collection of chronicles, The Eleven of Edinburgh. In 1890 Barrie made a small room, The Phantom of Ibsen, who ridicules the Norwegian playwright popular on the London stage. His novel, The little minister some success in 1891 and in 1892 our young author Conan Doyle met with whom he becomes friends. His play, A professor's love story, also met with great success and in 1894 he married the same year, the actress Mary Ansell, but the marriage will fail. Childless, the couple divorced in 1909 at the request of the wife (who took a lover) and against the will of the writer who opposes separation. J. M. Barrie was a menu and slender man, small. It has sometimes emphasized his almost childlike approach (like his hero Peter who will not grow). It is assumed that this unusual character was asexual and it was one of the reasons for divorce (see Peter Pan Syndrome). In 1897, in Kensington Park, James Barrie meets the Llewelyn Davies children (George, Jack and Peter) for which he imagines the adventures of Peter Pan. Our author binds to parents, Sylvia, daughter of writer George du Maurier, and Arthur, respected lawyer.